With haste, my friends, sly and deceitful;
enter under cover of the Temple of Cabals.
With fists, let us seize the same sword;
gird yourselves immediately with wolf’s veil.
The time has come, the moment has come,
let us regain the Might.

The death of Holy Augustus I will;
the Contract of Demise with me now draw up.
Gold, enough of it, let us haul onto the table;
and firm shall the knife of the Dark Oracle stand.
Cunning, the dawn arises, and paints the Senate’s depths
with the redness of its blood.

Glowing cuts the knife with a poison blade;
the pain blends with the tear of a glance.
From behind the groaning scream of death,
the church bells toll for a new day.
Oh, the knife of the Dark Oracle cuts.

A breath, leaves its ultimate frost;
there is a hand convulsed around the sticky haft.
A hold of the knife in his chest,
Augustus has gained before death.
Oh, the knife of the Dark Oracle cuts.

Covered is the sky, by the clouds of Satan;
black shadows engulf the fields of gold.
Within minds a thought so keen ignites;
in who’s name is the Demise done.

The moment has come, the time has come,
let us regain the Might.

The Purgatorial lightning of glimmering strikes;
its cold loom reveals my own stare.
I laugh behind the twinkle of my slyness;
a trail of blood now leads to the Holy Senate.

The moment has come, the time has come,
let us regain the Might.

Oh, the knife of the Dark Oracle cuts.

Gods in Flames

The Meadows of Hazel against the rising light:
the rifle-barrels encircle the flank of a plain;
the icy wind beats the swinging hay.

The halted frowns of fear look out into the rain;
a breath falls into the freezing daybreak.
The expectation like still water -

oh, and the Gods of Flames strike fire.

Fire against fire, against the beating plain of flames;
the rime of frost retreats.
The countenance of paleness gleams:
“Alas, trample the men under tether!“

The Fields of Blood run riot;
rapid, with hurting screams, are the meadows filled.
Death, death.

A thousand men are marching, above the icy graves;
the cries in their minds, of the Gods of war -

oh, and the Gods of Flames strike fire.

The end of the world before me; the roaring Ocean of Destruction,
the cannons strike it with explosions; against the rising light -

oh, and the Gods of Flames strike fire.

An Obituary

The icelike stones reflect on their sides,
the ashen faces of Lords of the Glaciers.
Because of the grimace of the Ancient Ones from beyond;
the rusty flow of the stream stops.

The Pallid Ones have lived forever,
they hold the Golden Key of Time;
the Key of bygone and forthcoming Ordeals,
the Key of the Destinies carved in stone.

A million of years has passed again,
treading in Chaos and Fury.
The hopeful souls are blemished,
traveling the Road of Vengeance.
The Eternal Ones have risen from their depths,
moulting the Ever-Sleep from their eyes;
condemning their icy storms unto the lakes,
unto the oceans, forests and the beds of vales.

All is covered by ice, a freezing gale;
into the cracks, howling, the claciers break.
The shadows of the Eternal Ones,
the looming sun paints, purple unto the snowdrift.
The blazing eyes are watching;
beyond Time, into the Eternity of the Universe;
observing the Gates of Destiny, covered by rocks,
that ever may lie extant from the ruins.

Nevermore shall I see the Sun arise. Nevermore.

Pale-stricken from their Vision,
the Eternal Ones have halted at the Gates of Time.
The spectacle of the miserable fate of human life,
hidden behind Sorrow’s bitter tear.
And like a pebble that teardrop rolls,
while searching everywhere for the Road of Hope.
Perhaps the destiny of a human being
is our heart and the crimson tomorrow.

To establish the Monument of the fighting human race,
they fire in the name of Heaven’s Apotheosis.
To establish the Obituary of human condition,
they hurl out Valiant Saturn;
they hurl out Mars, Moon,Venus,
Uranus, Pluto, Neptune.
To establish the Reminder of the human soul’s abyss,
that leaves an Eternal Enigma in its wake.

A Letter Concealed within the Wind

Carried by the autumn wind,
from the distant icy land of North,
written within the vortices, I hear a letter,
like wolves, howling at the chilly moon, moaning.

Bearing those words to us,
of bleak sorrow’s whisper.
Within the wind are written the verses of Evil;
the signs of end-time darkness, coming into existence.

The edges of the cape of Black Prince,
cast a shadow that devours the light,
unto the shore of the distant icy land of North,
which each morning have taken a step closer.

His coal-black gaze,
shining gloomier than the night sky;
into His somber satin embrace,
into His lap He encloses His lost, fallen child.

The immense Dominion of Darkness,
like the cold kiss of Death,
fulfilling the delusions of seduction in our thoughts.
The looking glass of the Other Side opens before us;

the unsatiable lust
like an ardour enticing;
conquers the naked body exhausted,
driving it into the quivers of forbidden pleasure.

Now every one of us
is a child of the Prince of Darkness;
a prisoner of the never-ending desire and delight,
that pierces with the arrow of forgotten witchcraft.

This is but a shadowy hall;
the hall of the Prince of Darkness Himself.

Tank

Instrumental

The Bride of Death

Worship Death with me,
light is but a delusion!

As I arrive to a valley that spews bright radiance,
I see a Heavenly Lady descent.
That Woman lewd, naked and pale,
I see her coming to me, wearing sin.
Caressing with fingers strange, cold and freezing,
that Lady commands me to lie down.
With deceitful lips, whispering me a lie,
entrancing my head into a rapture.

Worship the beauty of Death with me,
light is but a delusion!

Her face fair like the snow of icecold wilderness,
that Woman turns around to stare at me.
In her smile she looks like the Queen of Beauty,
but hark! She is the Bride of Death Himself.
The Bride of Death Himself, she crouches, teasing,
and reaching out she gives me a freezing cross.
She looks deep into my eyes, from behind that bead of a tear,
and with her laughter, tells a secret.

Worship the beauty of Death with me,
light is but a delusion!

That Lady with a bleak gaze, her secret is so cynical.
The moment of my death it tells me,
and that moment has arrived; the shiver of Doom I sense above me,
the penetration of Eternity.

Worship the beauty of Death with me,
light is but a delusion!
Worship Death with me,
light is but a delusion!

The Sublime Prince of Punishment

Like this, raising my fists, I command the sea, the sky, to my side,
with my hand I point those who I have chosen to be in my possession.
With my eyes I precipitate, those who I condemn with my look,
with my word I command the bright stars to glorify me.

My power is boundless, I am the most Sublime of the Sublime;
I am the Master of Wounding, the Lord of Lacerations, the most Sovereign.

With whips I subdue, with lashes splicing the air,
the fettering bond I gird around the slave.
I am the God of my Chamber, Punishment and all the Pain,
in my Prison of Agony I sow a profane scream.

I am the Devil Himself,
the soul fire of Hades in my eyes,
my hand’s gesture is a reminescent of the most distinguished court.
I am the Devil Himself,
for thou, my dearest friend, I now bow,
for alone I would be only that echo of the poem from Hades.

My power is boundless, I am the most Sublime of the Sublime;
I am the Master of Wounding, the Lord of Lacerations, the most Sovereign.
I am the Master of Winds in the air, I am the Lord of the Fire of Lava, the most powerful;
I am the Lord of Harvest as the agony is the ultimate one.

Angel of Dusk

The day at hand is passing, I’m left in the dusk of my room.
The cry of silence hurting, I see the tears of clouds,
I think that Time may have left them behind.

The veils of thy magic, lay themselves enchanting over me.
In the shades of twilight, silver stars I see;
I fear no more but stay and look.

Angel from far away, cold is thy quiver.
You conquer my soul and together we fly away;
to the side of our Heaven of Oblivion.

I watch from the stars,
as a million myselves get their wings.
Alas, how could it be told!
I have soared far away, beyond the Stars of Dark,
beyond the Stars of Dark.

A breath without light, emanating through me;
it grants me the freedom, at last I shall have my dream,
the dream with wings.

From behind the distance, a gift so heavenlike.
The curtain of secrecy, gives me her spirit,
the spirit of the Angels of Darkness.

I watch from the Stars of Dark,
as a million myselves get their wings.
Alas, how could it be told!
I have soared far away, beyond the Stars of Dark.
Alas, how could it be told!
Far away I have soared, beyond the Stars of Dark,
beyond the Stars of Dark.

Love May Still Await the Mountains

Ashen I see,
her face of Eden before me.
My Goddess;
I feel the emotion of fulfilment within.
I fear no more,
not the raging Darkness,
but the blinding Radiance of Victory I see everywhere.

Caressing her hand,
I reveal the whisper in my heart.
From the spirit of Liberty,
our cores are filled;
together we conquer the Dream of Ecstasy.

Like the flow of a brook,
I stay and watch her beauty.
I run away no more,
not so far away;
the time has come when the days halt at last.

The Thunder of Oppression,
beside Freedom I see it igniting.
The task of Destiny,
I feel it arriving unto my heart.
I have to leave, far away I have to leave.

I tread with merciless claws,
across the land and the people oppressed.
With pride I raise my triumphing eyes;
the call unto the battle has been blown:
so Love may still await.
Destruction I spread until this land sees her Freedom arising -
Emilie.

I break down the walls and men,
I break down the enemy lines in front of me.
I break down the foe to the last man.
I hit against Injustice,
with a blade I strike the Oppressor.
Destruction I spread until this land sees her freedom arising -
Emilie.

Garden of the Bygone Wonderland

The fighting has come to an end, it has gone away,
the Hounds of War tread taciturn.
The Men of Battle, they drink the Cup of the Vanguished,
dancing till the rising morn.

So warm is
that wave of a shore,
caressing the sand.

Drink empty the cups, Princes of Mercy,
that leads unto a Victorious mind.
The Conquest of plains elevates one into a rapture,
now the land is filled with Unity.

So warm
is that wave of the shore,
the shore conquered.

The hero’s fires kindle,
striking like affection after a battle.
Whoever joins the festival of the Men of War,
shall gain the Wonderland into his possession.

The most beautiful virgins, wearing white gowns,
are dancing on the dune’s crest.
The ecstasy of wine, like the ecstasy after battles,
brings new love unto one’s heart.

So warm
is that wave of the shore,
the shore conquered.

The hero’s fires kindle,
striking like love after a battle.
Whoever joins the festival of the Men of War,
shall gain the Wonderland into his possession.

The Herald

Instrumental

Moon Fog Prophet lyric translation by J.K. “Steinspinne“ Niemelä at The Hermit of Rascal Mountain Poetry Workshop, March 2004. The translation is dedicated to my dear old Comrades-in-arms, the Mighty Prophets themselves.